2008 — 28 July: Monday
After the not entirely fruitful video experiments yesterday afternoon, I've decided to pin my hopes on this statement from an HDFury Forum. Just call me a mad fool, throwing good money after bad in the fallacy of the sunken cost. (Thank you, Wikipedia: "The economic approach that sunk costs should not be considered when decisions are being made can lead to a situation where the sum of a number of good decisions can lead to one big disaster.")
The solution is painfully simple: The HDFury device gets the power supply from the DVI connector 5V pin, but the Panasonic BD Player isn't able to provide enough current. You need an external supply cable to HDFury and it should work.
Fingers (again) crossed. Now for tonight's picture of Christa. The morning light in Beaumont, Old Windsor, was tricky, but the subject is still my favourite:
Christa in the early morning light of June 1974
It's again cool enough to sleep, so I shall dash down, do the dishes, and call it a night. (I would have said "retire" but I'm already retired!) G'night at some time after 00:21 or thereabouts.
Start with a smile... dept.
I've been a fan of Randy Newman for well over 35 years. Indeed, he's one of the relatively few people I've been to see perform live (in the unglamorous venue of Slough, in 1979, in a largely empty hall):
I think I'd have been pretty bad as a person. And maybe I was anyway, but I don't think I could have handled [success]. Fortunately I wrote stuff that people didn't like." A chuckle gurgles up. "I dodged a bullet there." ... Newman laughs most readily when the joke is on his enduring failure to win America's heart. Such mainstream neglect only stokes the ardour of those who consider him one of the great living songwriters, fans for whom songs such as Sail Away, God's Song (That's Why I Love Mankind) and Baltimore constitute a delicious secret, a joke that only a few can get.
Phone home, ET
You know you're totally out of touch when it takes a "Dork Talk" column by Stephen Fry to reveal that the next variant of Apple's iPhone "offers better reception for the 10 radios hidden inside — four GSM (your standard quad band), three UMTS/HSDPA (your 3G) plus one each for A-GPS, Wi-Fi and Bluetooth". (Source.)
And, on the out-of-touch front, it's asserted that "[Donald] Knuth hasn't checked his emails since 1990." (Source.)
Well, the first cuppa is safely down. Time (09:04) to put my inner man in touch with some breakfast, I guess. Here's hoping for a cooler day. I've decided I'd better keep an eye on my budget (perhaps not quite to the extent Christa did) after the BBC tells me that "The government estimates that 2.5 million households are in fuel poverty — defined as when more than 10% of household income is spent on fuel bills — but watchdog Energywatch says the figure is more than four million". What I want to know is: does petrol count?
What's in that red box?... dept.
I'm surprised to discover that gas and electricity currently tot up to about 3% of the budget. "Transport" (meaning all car-related spending) is currently running at three times that, though that included the cost of driving lessons. Food is costing a lot, but then it's also keeping me alive (even after the way I cook it). The biggest category is what I grandly call "Miscellaneous" though I always felt I'd somehow failed if I ended up placing a new book in that meaningless category in my database.
A wise chap told me (when he first learned of my intention to retire back in April 2006) "I'm still not sure whether there's any more intelligent life after IBM or not. However, I am confident that there are universally more intelligent lifestyles after IBM. I haven't met any retiree who's regretted it for a minute. I hope that you'll also find that (as long as you're not supporting 17 children through 5 ex-wives) the strict financial requirements are less than you might anticipate."
You seem to be correct so far, young Geoff! Christa was delighted and relieved when I retired as she was convinced my "job" was doing me little good. While I bitterly regret the fact that she didn't get to enjoy any retirement herself (and remember she was six years older than me) she certainly took vicarious pleasure from mine. But she very much enjoyed her part-time work and the fact that it was home-based. Still, I'm glad I retired before her health failed her so horribly last year. And I must say (and often do, when out on a walk in this lovely countryside) it sure beats being in the office.
Time (12:15) to think about a spot of lunch, methinks. Then, before you know it, time (15:55) to restock the food cupboard. Here we go again.
GDDC? Who he?
A gentleman with an Indian accent just called me soliciting my opinion on multinational corporations. I'm guessing this wasn't the Greater Denver Dalmatian Club. But you never know. It's been an odd day. Just had a brief chat, from the skylight, with the young couple and family that Christa always called the "William" family, after that toddler's amazingly piercing eyes. She would hear them from her bed. They still regularly walk their dogs past on their way down to the "rec" with, now, two kiddies. Life goes on, doesn't it? And it will here, too, providing I keep eating and breathing I guess. And putting out the correctly-coloured rubbish bin (green, tonight) once a week, etc etc.
There's a slight, but growing, breeze, and some increasing cloud cover. I suppose Lis downunder in NZ is riding out the predicted storm down there. Time (19:19) for a light supper — it's far too hot for anything very substantial. Not my favourite weather. In fact, I'm predicting a spot of light televisual entertainment of the strictly non-broadcast variety in my near future, too. After all, I do have a few unwatched DVDs in the collection. An email suggests my HDFury's power supply (the American term is "wall-wart" apparently) is en route and should show up, with another item or two, tomorrow. Good!
I don't make this up... dept.
What do they want? Rivers of gushing oil?
The Pray at the Pump Movement, founded by Rocky Twyman, has been holding prayer vigils at gas stations across the country. From Virginia, to Toledo, to San Francisco, Americans have been meeting at their local stations and praying around the pumps.
Mind you, people in that same continent are also capable of producing this. (Last Gasp are a reliable mail-order firm, by the way.)
Back in 1966, Dad bought his one and only Quincy Jones album Quincy plays for pussycats which, some while ago (3 November 2001), I finally treated myself to as an expensive ($28-48) Japanese CD import via Amazon in the US. The current notes on the Verve website leave something to be desired: "Jones, a consummated (sic) musician and entrepreneur, was notorious for integrating pop material into a jazz setting with striking results." I'm not quite so sure he was back then. I can still remember the scorn expressed by two of my supposed chums from school to whom I played this excellent music. (I was very glad to get away from school, believe me.)
Typical! I began this ramble merely intending to remark that I'd been reminded of the album by the sound of the gentle rain (which is one of the track titles) but it now seems to have stopped, having maximised the uncomfortable level of humidity hereabouts. I'm going to retreat downstairs.